


What Never Should Have Happened

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Guilty John, Hurt Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4682390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In response to the prompt;</p><p>Sherlock hasn't found a case in a while and is being rather, well... Sherlock-y. John tries to talk him out of it and Sherlock ends up infuriating him so badly through some insensitive comment that he shoves/punches him. He doesn't mean to hurt Sherlock, just give him a bit of a shock. Afterward, he storms out of the flat in a fury and doesn't return until hours later, when Sherlock has barricaded himself in his room - presumably sulking. Being really awkward, with John not wanting to apologise and Sherlock flinching every time John comes near him, and generally being even more secretive and avoid-y than he usually is.<br/>John's not sure what's got into him, but he's had enough and goes to confront Sherlock - only to somehow find out that he actually ended up quite badly hurting Sherlock and Sherlock is convinced that John did it deliberately. Also, almost everyone else Sherlock's ever been properly friendly with has ended up abusing him either verbally or physically, and he sees John's actions as a continuation of this. John is absolutely horrified, and lots of angst/apologies/doctoring ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Never Should Have Happened

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

Sherlock had been an arse all week. The insane comments were getting out of control as were the majority of his actions. 

He was touchy and grouchy and just generally irritating. John struggled to get a word in edge ways and when he managed to, he would get cut off in a world of abuse against his intelligence. 

The problem was, his bratty boyfriend hadn't had a case in weeks. At least not a decent one; one that would stimulate the mind to its fullest capacity and keep the insensitive comments at bay. 

As a result of Sherlock's attitude they hadn't had sex in over a week and that thought alone was frustrating the older man. 

And now he sat tapping his foot against the table leg because he knew John was grinding his teeth. 

“John, why are you even still here? You clearly have more important things to do than tell me to clean up the frogs legs.”

This was in response to John asking almost too politely to tidy the kitchen up after his most recent experiment. 

“Bloody hell, Sherlock! You great insufferable prat!”

“What, is that the best insult you can come up with? The great Doctor Watson, reduced to shouting small mindless insults.”

“Coming from you? The small mindless insults are all that have come out of your mouth all week.”

“Merely copying you, John.”

He had stood up now and was pacing in front of the doctor, snarling every insult that had come out of the older man's mouth when Sherlock had been annoying. 

Suddenly even angrier, John shoved Sherlock. Hard. If he had paused to think about what he had done he would have seen the wince and contort of pain on the detective's face along with disappointed surprise as he flailed back into the bookshelf. 

But as it was, it was too late. He was gone. 

That night John stayed at Sarah's and the following morning when he returned to the flat a lot calmer than he had been in what felt like forever, he couldn't find Sherlock anywhere and the bedroom door was shut. Not just shut; locked. 

Coming to the conclusion the child-like detective was just sulking like he did very often, John went and stuck the kettle on, but he found his thoughts were plagued by what had transpired yesterday. He would give him- he glanced at the clock to find it was only 8, blimey Sarah must have had an early shift seeing as she wasn't there when he awoke. That was fairly normal though, the amount of nights he has slept there that week - a few hours and then he'd see if he was willing to talk. 

“Sherlock? Sherlock!” He hammered on the door. When there was no response he found Sherlock's lock picking kit on the table and fiddled with the bedroom door until the lock sprung free, giving way to his demands. 

“Hey, Sherlock!” 

The detective spun and sat up with a well-hidden wince. He had been laying face down in bed in pyjamas that he never wore. 

“What are you laying like that for? You always sleep on your back.”

“I'm not sure,” he whispered quietly. 

“Are we ok?” John asked. He was nearly as bad at this emotional stuff as Sherlock was. 

The doctor cautiously wandered over to the bed and sat down. John would say it was just the movement of the bed that made the younger man move back half an inch rather than it being a flinch, voluntary or otherwise. 

Sherlock nodded. “Of course, John.” He slid off the other side of the bed sheepishly grabbing some clothes as he passed them and headed into the en suite rather than getting changed in the bedroom like normal. 

The doctor shrugged but watched his lover's back disappear behind another locked door. 

***

Sherlock was stood by the toaster waiting for their breakfast to pop up. John watched him, he did this thing where he would wait for it and as it popped up he'd snatch it out of the air. More often than not all he managed to succeed in doing was punching it down the back of the toaster. 

“If you're doing that, I'll make the tea,” John offered from the door. 

The detective nodded again. 

John watched him curiously as he puttered about finding the tea bags. His lover was acting oddly. His movements were jagged rather than fluid. The biggest difference was when he reached past the taller man's head for two mugs and he flinched back. His head collided with the open cupboard door and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Babe? What was that about? You alright?”

“N-Nothing. Here's your toast.”

He dumped his plate on the side so hard it cracked down the middle and he walked out grabbing his Belstaff as he passed the hook. 

“Sherlock!”

Apparently things weren't as alright as they seemed. 

***

A while later John walked into their bedroom fed up of the detective being all secretive and wimpy around him. He had stormed out of the flat in his pyjamas and was now deciding to change. Since he'd got back from his 'walk' he had kept away from the older man and when John had tried to talk, he got nods or shakes of the head as answers. And when he bucked up the courage to go near him he jerked away and found something to do quickly. 

However, opening the bedroom door, he caught his boyfriend at the wrong moment- or the right moment depending on the point of view. 

Sherlock had his arms up, and was struggling out of his pyjama top, his back to the door. John noted that his arms weren't up as far as they usually were; the detective having very flexible joints. The top half of the younger man's back was a mass of purples and yellows. 

John's gasp caused Sherlock to spin around and jump back about 3 feet. 

“J-John?”

“Sherlock? What happened to your back?”

Sherlock glanced at the floor between his feet. 

“It's nothing, John, can you leave?”

“You're my boyfriend, Sherlock, I've seen you naked before. Hold on, is that why you slept with clothes on and on your stomach?”

Sherlock nodded slightly and picked out a shirt attempting to hide (and failing) his wince as he slipped into it. 

“How did it happen?” John was angry now at the thought that someone had hurt Sherlock and that did nothing to help calm him who was looking more and more like a cat who'd been cornered. 

He was muttering something under his breath as he backed himself into the corner. He sunk down to the ground, his arms wrapping around his knees.

John froze, what was he doing? He'd gone extremely pale and was trembling.

John crouched down next to him, but as soon as he got too close, Sherlock flinched violently and winced when his head hit the wall behind him. That was the second time today he had bashed his head. 

“Sherlock?”

Seeing that he wasn't going to get a response, he backed up slightly giving the sitting man space and in turn his heavy breathing seemed to ease up. 

He tried his name again but decided on the best bet being hot sweet tea to calm him further. 

As he walked out of the bedroom and put the kettle on he went through to the sitting room to collect his cup from earlier when he noticed many of the books from the bookshelf on the floor in a pile. The rest of the flat was always a state, but Sherlock treasured his books. He'd never leave them out and he'd never drop them on the floor. 

John walked backwards until he hit the wall of the kitchen. Sherlock had been stood inches from that spot yesterday and he had shoved the younger man quite hard. But… he couldn't… he didn't… but that would explain all the panicked glances and the flinching whenever he went near him and the performance in the bedroom moments ago. 

He quickly rushed back into the kitchen poured two mugs of tea and went back to the bedroom. Sherlock jumped again when the doctor cleared his throat. He was looking a bit sheepish as if he couldn't believe his performance in front of his flat mate but as soon as he went near he began trembling once more. It was like a switch. 

The doctor placed the tea on the bedside table and then got on the bed himself. 

“Come over here, Sherlock.”

He eyed him warily but didn't move.

John patted the duvet in what he hoped was a persuasive manner, but it just resulted in another flinch. 

“C'mon, Sherlock, I promise I won't touch you if you don't want me to. But you need to drink, ok?”

At that point, it wasn't Sherlock that came over and joined him on the bed, but a terrified child. 

He held his knees to his chest, but stayed out of John's reach as he held his mug of tea. 

“It was me that did this to you wasn't it?” John asked, trying to get on top of the feeling of choking at any minute. 

The broken sob from next to him was enough warning for John to grab the mug before it toppled over and burnt him and gathered him up in his arms, rocking him quietly as Sherlock cried into his knees. 

“I didn't think you were like the rest,” Sherlock sobbed, quietly. 

“Like the rest?” John's voice was soft and reassuring, but his mind was working at 100 miles an hour. 

“Everyone. Everyone always hurts me. I- I didn't think you were like that.”

“Oh, babe, I'm not. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was angry and you pushed and pushed so I pushed you back, physically. I didn't mean for you to hurt yourself and I certainly didn't do it deliberately.”

He tightened his hold further and kissed his curls, tucking his head under his chin. 

“I honestly didn't mean to. Do you want me to go? I can sleep upstairs for a while?”

He extracted himself from the younger man, but Sherlock just sobbed harder. “… No.”

Seconds later and John was back holding him again. 

“It'll be alright, sweetheart. Please believe me. I won't ever-” he couldn't finish and Sherlock took hold of his hand. 

“You really didn't mean it…?”

“No, babe, of course I didn't. I'm sorry if you didn't trust me enough to tell me and I'm sorry you didn't trust me enough to believe I would do this to you deliberately.”

“I truthfully didn't know what to think. It didn't fit with my collection of data that I had on you. But it's just- I'm just so used to it, I kind of forgot it was you and not anyone else.”

John handed him his tea again. “It'll be alright,” he repeated, holding him tight with the intention of never letting him go.


End file.
